writing I think. All of it I suppose.
Alex Hargreaves smiles tightly. Is she reading things? What’s she reading? That’s interesting, he says. I’d really like to talk to her about that, I’d be very interested to know what her take was on something like that; it might really help us in getting Vernon’s name out there. When’s she around, could we arrange a meet up?
No, Paula says quickly, almost vehemently. Then it’s her turn to moderate her tone. No, no, I think all this interest in Vernon has gone far enough really, I think perhaps I’d prefer to keep it private, I am not sure whether I want it all out there, as you say.
Well, do you have the right to make that decision? On Vernon’s work you are going to …
Vernon’s not here she says. When he comes back he can decide on what happens to it.
But he’s never coming back is he?
Then it stays in limbo, I guess, she says.
A pulse is ticking away in his temple, he smiles. In limbo? The value of this work, he says, must be realised.
The realisation of value? She nods, well, she says. I am away this weekend. Perhaps we can think about this more next week.
Paula, Paula, really, his voice has got louder. I need this stuff now. Well, as I said. Next week.
Suddenly Joolzy’s at the table, leaning on it, head and torso turned toward Alex Hargreaves, bottom lip out, brows knit. Seriously, bruv, you are not trying to get heavy, in here, with a close friend of mine?
Alex Hargreaves sits back in his chair spreads his arms out wide and rolls his eyes back as if to say …
Say it, say it, say, you people, you people . Joolzy wants him to say it.
I just want to help everyone out but no one seems to get it, he says, his voice thick.
But Paula has made up her mind. She experiences a glimmer of doubt, almost, she thinks, a pre-cognition, it might just be easier if she gives it to him. He seems agitated, in a bad frame of mind. It might be wise, head off further trouble, conflict down the line.
But no, she has made up her mind and once she has she’s stubborn.
You can ask her Dad, he’ll tell you.
Rob
Nothing for years. Then, suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.
Robert Gillespie sits in his living room. He should probably open the curtains. It is two in the afternoon after all and looks to be a nice day out there. Instead he rolls himself a cigarette.
Ash drops onto the carpet and he grinds it in with his foot. Well, Alex Hargreaves had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t meant to be so quite so hostile but it was a bad start, turning up like that, got him jumpy. No one apart from Robert Gillespie has set foot in the house for the entire time he has lived there. Not even his sister, and technically, she owns the place.
To say that the house was a mess would be a considerable understatement. For the first year or so, well, the first six months, maybe, he made an effort, but after a while he began to wonder what the point was. Same with going upstairs to go to bed when there was a perfectly comfortable sofa and sleeping bag right there in the lounge and it only meant heating one room. Fire, TV, laptop, kettle, get all the essentials in one place, that’s the trick. He dragged the fridge into the living room a couple of winters ago, too.
First thing he thought when the door went yesterday was that the debt collectors had come for him. He knows people who took a chance, got on to the electoral roles to vote in the Referendum and are being hounded now by bailiffs and sheriffs for unpaid council tax and other outstanding debts, and the local council’s getting their cut, too. He was too smart to raise his head above that parapet, but he knows they have ways of tracing you, ways of intimidating you, punishing you, and that they need revenue. He should tone his online activities down a bit. He hasn’t done anything strictly illegal as far as he knows, said anything actionably defamatory or likely to incite, but then the definitions keep changing. Then another
Alex Hargreaves smiles tightly. Is she reading things? What’s she reading? That’s interesting, he says. I’d really like to talk to her about that, I’d be very interested to know what her take was on something like that; it might really help us in getting Vernon’s name out there. When’s she around, could we arrange a meet up?
No, Paula says quickly, almost vehemently. Then it’s her turn to moderate her tone. No, no, I think all this interest in Vernon has gone far enough really, I think perhaps I’d prefer to keep it private, I am not sure whether I want it all out there, as you say.
Well, do you have the right to make that decision? On Vernon’s work you are going to …
Vernon’s not here she says. When he comes back he can decide on what happens to it.
But he’s never coming back is he?
Then it stays in limbo, I guess, she says.
A pulse is ticking away in his temple, he smiles. In limbo? The value of this work, he says, must be realised.
The realisation of value? She nods, well, she says. I am away this weekend. Perhaps we can think about this more next week.
Paula, Paula, really, his voice has got louder. I need this stuff now. Well, as I said. Next week.
Suddenly Joolzy’s at the table, leaning on it, head and torso turned toward Alex Hargreaves, bottom lip out, brows knit. Seriously, bruv, you are not trying to get heavy, in here, with a close friend of mine?
Alex Hargreaves sits back in his chair spreads his arms out wide and rolls his eyes back as if to say …
Say it, say it, say, you people, you people . Joolzy wants him to say it.
I just want to help everyone out but no one seems to get it, he says, his voice thick.
But Paula has made up her mind. She experiences a glimmer of doubt, almost, she thinks, a pre-cognition, it might just be easier if she gives it to him. He seems agitated, in a bad frame of mind. It might be wise, head off further trouble, conflict down the line.
But no, she has made up her mind and once she has she’s stubborn.
You can ask her Dad, he’ll tell you.
Rob
Nothing for years. Then, suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.
Robert Gillespie sits in his living room. He should probably open the curtains. It is two in the afternoon after all and looks to be a nice day out there. Instead he rolls himself a cigarette.
Ash drops onto the carpet and he grinds it in with his foot. Well, Alex Hargreaves had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t meant to be so quite so hostile but it was a bad start, turning up like that, got him jumpy. No one apart from Robert Gillespie has set foot in the house for the entire time he has lived there. Not even his sister, and technically, she owns the place.
To say that the house was a mess would be a considerable understatement. For the first year or so, well, the first six months, maybe, he made an effort, but after a while he began to wonder what the point was. Same with going upstairs to go to bed when there was a perfectly comfortable sofa and sleeping bag right there in the lounge and it only meant heating one room. Fire, TV, laptop, kettle, get all the essentials in one place, that’s the trick. He dragged the fridge into the living room a couple of winters ago, too.
First thing he thought when the door went yesterday was that the debt collectors had come for him. He knows people who took a chance, got on to the electoral roles to vote in the Referendum and are being hounded now by bailiffs and sheriffs for unpaid council tax and other outstanding debts, and the local council’s getting their cut, too. He was too smart to raise his head above that parapet, but he knows they have ways of tracing you, ways of intimidating you, punishing you, and that they need revenue. He should tone his online activities down a bit. He hasn’t done anything strictly illegal as far as he knows, said anything actionably defamatory or likely to incite, but then the definitions keep changing. Then another
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